Still, it wasn’t until the actual election that things got really tense. Aunt Mehri’s youngest and favorite child, Sadegh, started spending every spare moment with the Basij volunteer militias that were trying to keep security in the streets and protect the nation from violent rioters. Aunt Mehri, beside herself with worry over Sadegh’s safety, had been deeply offended to learn that Azar’s husband had led a mass resignation of 120 university professors to protest the supposed ill treatment of students by government forces.
But the final straw was when, at a ladies-only party hosted by Cousin Zainab, Azar had insisted that the election had been rigged, that the Green Wave protesters were simply standing up for their rights, and that the government crackdown was violent and immoral.
“Did you see what happened just yesterday?” Azar had asked, waving a picture on her phone in the air. “A young woman, a peaceful protester, Neda Soltani, shot in the chest with live bullets. I have the video right here. Any human being would be outraged.”
What made things worse was that, Mrs. Rahimi, who Aunt Mehri had known since she was a child, who was the youngest sister of one of Aunt Mehri’s oldest friends, hadn’t bothered chiding or even trying to quiet her daughter when she was so obviously insulting their hosts. Not only were the family’s politics wrong but its members were ill-mannered to boot.
That night, after the party, Aunt Mehri had informed Sarah’s mother that the wedding had to be called off. “It breaks my heart to see this from Mina’s family,” she’d exclaimed, her hand pressed to her chest as if holding her fragmenting heart together. “And I’m sure that if Mina were here, she would set her sister straight. She’s been in New York far too long. But, praise God, it just goes to show how right I was to take things slow and keep the young people away from any temptation. Praise God, we found out what this family really is in time to break things off with no harm done.”
Had Aunt Mehri noticed the boys’ antics beside the sofreh aghd ? And where was Azar? Why wasn’t she controlling her unruly sons?
Sarah spotted Azar on the left side of the bridal spread, almost exactly opposite her sons and Aunt Mehri on the right. As sister of the groom, she was one of the few women at the gathering who didn’t have to cover up her revealing wedding dress while Ali was in the ladies section of the banquet hall. Azar’s thick black hair was pulled into a severe updo, and her makeup was limited to a bit of lipstick and mascara. She wore a black sheath dress and dark-green jacket with black accents at the lapel and upturned sleeves. Even in a dress, Sarah had noticed earlier, Azar managed to look as if she were working.
Azar really was a strange woman for their tabaghe, or class of wealthy religious families. For one thing, it was rumored that she’d refused her husband’s bed for the first few years of marriage. For another, she worked outside the home at her own law practice in the morally suspect field of helping women obtain divorces. And she wasn’t at all interested in the typical things that ladies enjoyed. Once, in an effort to bond with her soon-to-be sister-in-law, Sarah had confided her difficulties in completing purchases of furnishings and linens for the home she and Ali would share. “I just can’t sleep at night thinking how I’m going to find towels to match the bathroom accessories my father brought from London,” Sarah had complained. Admittedly, Sarah might have been a bit melodramatic but she hadn’t deserved Azar’s rolled eyes and contemptuous question that if mismatched towels kept Sarah up at night, how on earth would she handle a real problem. Since the towel incident, Sarah had felt a bit prickly toward Azar.
With all her manly attitudes and behaviors, one might have thought Azar wouldn’t have any trouble controlling two young boys. But, in this area, she seemed to be at a loss. Sarah had seen Azar plead with Hossein and Muhammadreza in the same manner, but with less success, than when Sarah pleaded with her father for more spending money.
Azar met Sarah’s eyes and gave her a small smile. She looked surprised to see Sarah looking so pointedly at her. Was it possible she hadn’t heard her boys? Sarah tilted her head and narrowed her eyes toward Hossein and Muhammadreza, but when Azar followed her gaze, she still looked confused.
Exasperated, Sarah turned her attention to Aunt Mehri, hoping that she might have missed the boys’ chanting. But from the way Aunt Mehri’s pursed lips radiated angry lines through her papery skin, it was clear she’d heard the boys’ offensive words all too well. Sarah felt her corset winch another notch around her waist as she wondered what her aunt would do.
Despite Aunt Mehri’s sarcastic remarks about Sarah’s blundered response to the mullah, Sarah actually felt a little sorry for her. Sarah couldn’t think of another time when Aunt Mehri’s decision about a family matter hadn’t been the final word, and a part of Sarah still couldn’t believe she’d managed to convince her parents, Maman-joon especially, to defy her older-by-twenty-years sister who was more like a mother to her and a grandmother to Sarah.
Aunt Mehri hadn’t taken it lightly. In the past few days she’d railed at Sarah’s parents for making a monumental mistake. She’d threatened to boycott the wedding and forbid other family members from attending. And she’d warned tearfully that her poor heart couldn’t take being treated this way and that no one should be surprised if God in his infinite mercy took her from this world before she had to witness her niece marry into the “family of traitors and infidels”—a family she didn’t seem to remember having once been so enthusiastic about that she’d literally forced Sarah to meet their son.
In the end, however, Aunt Mehri had swallowed her pride, attended the wedding, and had, mostly, been quite gracious. It was unfair for Aunt Mehri to have these awful chants thrown in her face.
Sarah wanted to bow her head back to its proper position before Aunt Mehri noticed. But she was transfixed by the sight of Aunt Mehri’s arm as it began to stretch, amoeba-like under the veil’s draping, toward Hossein’s shoulder. When Aunt Mehri’s reaching appendage grasped the startled boy, Hossein grimaced in pain from what Sarah knew from experience to be a surprisingly strong grip for a woman whose cloistered body enjoyed even less exercise than it did sun. Aunt Mehri held him firmly as the boy squirmed. But as the awkward strain of her bent position became too difficult to maintain, she suddenly pitched forward. Sarah tensed and squeezed her eyes shut just as Aunt Mehri crash-landed into the middle of the bridal spread on the floor, scattering flowers, eggs, and other decorations on her way.
When Sarah opened her eyes again, it was to the sight of her mother, Cousin Zainab, and some of the other ladies, Mrs. Rahimi included, valiantly trying to help Aunt Mehri get upright while holding their rumpled chadors in place over their revealing wedding gowns. Aunt Mehri’s rounded proportions made the job an extra challenge as the ladies struggled to roll her up over the girth of her belly while keeping her veiling secure and without damaging any more of the fragile bridal spread accouterments. When Hossein and Muhammadreza started laughing, Nafiseh, Aunt Mehri’s teenage granddaughter, the one Sarah always thought would one day inherit her mother Zainab’s position as enforcer of rules, gave Muhammedreza a swift kick that set off another physical tussle. The adults momentarily abandoned Aunt Mehri on the bridal spread as they tried to pull the children apart. Azar, finally cued in to the havoc her boys were causing, ran around the bridal spread to get to the melee. At first, she tried to help the forgotten Aunt Mehri, but when the old woman slapped at her extended hands, Azar turned to grab and pull her boys away.